QckChr001- Devil Wears Capra
by Eleos Argentum
Summary: Liquidator and Bushroot are a great team; and apparently, the same applies for Isis Van Derchill and Bug Master. With the bad guys fighting amongst each other and Darkwing perfecting his change-diapers abilities, maybe it's time for Gos to shine; if she manages to hand that biology paper, that's it.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** Liquidator and Bushroot are a great team; and apparently, the same applies for Isis Van Derchill and Bug Master. With the bad guys fighting amongst each other and Darkwing perfecting his change-diapers abilities, maybe it's time for Gos to shine; if she manages to hand that biology paper, that's it.

 **Disclaimer:** This story is just part of a series –"The Quack Chronicles"- which is a long story by itself: my rendition to those cartoons that made my childhood perfect; as so, I now take the opportunity to write the first CrossOver I ever dreamed of: DarkwingDuck/DuckTales/CountDuckula.

I've got chills just for thinking of writing it. Still, the crossover this time will be extremely minor. But it'll become mayor in future fics.

The idea for this story is pretty old, actually. Originally, I wanted to present this series as a comic, but it would have taken too long for my taste. Still, I have the intention of drawing at the very least some fragments of these stories in comic format.

If possible, I would love to someday draw all of them.

Now, I already have sketched several chapters and the general story on the long run. My goal is to upload a chapter biweekly –if possible, weekly-. If you have any idea or request for a chapter or the whole series, please message me so I can take it in consideration, giving you full credit, of course.

 **QUACK CHRONICLES**

 **01\. The Duckette Knight Rises**

 **Part 1**

St. Canard City, fair jewel of the beautiful state of Calisota.

St. Canard… the City that Never Sleeps Soundly… home of the Greatest Feathered Crime-fighter of all and, no... we are most definitely not talking of Gizmoduck.

No... We are not talking about Phantom Duck either...

…

 _Feathered_! I said _FEATHERED_! Does Super Goof seems " _feathered_ " to you?!

DARKWING DUCK! He is the greatest Feathered Crime Fighter of all!

What the heck is wrong with you, people?!

Know what? I quit! No way I'm talking to such a bunch of jerks!

I'm outta here!

-o-o-o-

 _Ahem…_

Sorry for the outburst….

St. Canard City's streets are commonly thought to be completely deserted after the sun sets. At least, by those who doesn't live in the city nor in the suburbs.

Truth be told, St. Canard does have a great night live; after all, St. Canard is the City that Never Sleeps Soundly, right?

Now, St. Canard citizens are smart enough to avoid those parts of the city, most likely than not, to be targeted by some wacko supervillain after office hours; like jewelries, banks, museums, toy and candy stores, plant nurseries, Home Depot, Electric-Appliances-R-Us…

Keep away from those and your life will be fine. Unless you are drive over by a bus. That would suck.

Except, of course, you are stupid enough to defy common sense and decide to take a walk on the park on Tree Day…

Or buy lightbulbs on Edison's birthday…

Or go to the Aquarium on Talk Like a Pirate Day...

Or step out of bed on April's Fool…

Or dropped school and get a job as security-guard…

Weird enough, the last ones are also the ones who buy lightbulbs on Edison's birthday…

This particular gray cat was too scared to think about the nasty turn his life has taken since he had dropped mime school and answered an ad to be a security guard at St. Canard's First National Bank. He hadn't pondered either if that meant St. Canard was its very own nation.

His green eyes widened with fear as thick vines snaked their way around him, surrounding his body and tightening; his mouth opened in a silent scream as the potted plant dragged him out of view.

"Tom? TOM! Now where the heck did that cat go?" grumbled a bulky bulldog some minutes later. He washed his flashlight's light over the empty corridor, finding nothing but a few leaves scattered on the tiles. "I swear, that cat is sneaky as a mouse… wouldn't surprise me at all if he managed to get into the vault just to take a nap…"

Suddenly, the sprinklers on the ceiling turned on, drenching the gruffly guardian. The canine looked up, frowning in annoyance, failing to notice the droplets at his feet moving, congregating behind him…

-o-o-o-

The concrete around the big and heavy vault door ripped with a thunderous crack, being firmly held and carried away by an army of vines and branches. A tidal wave flooded inside the vault, dragging out bag after bag of wealth and cash.

In the lobby, the stolen treasure rested on a pile. Two mutated anthropomorphic figures –a plant-duck and a canine made of H2O- surveyed their loot, gloating over a job well done.

That's when the bank main door burst open from a sudden crash of freezing air. Before the One and Only Liquidator could do as much as turning around in surprise, he found himself turned into an ice sculpture; his partner-in-crime was shivering and bracing himself for warmth when the bees attacked.

The yellow and black insects chased the mad botanist as he ran around, flailing his leafy arms widely and screaming form the top of his lungs (if he still had any; don't plants breath through their cells?).

From the opened doors, two figures cackled; one thin and big-headed, the other fairly plump. They didn't waste any time in retrieving others ill-won earnings and fleeting the place, not looking back even once.

-o-o-o-

The bank was eerily quiet; the only sound was a weird ticking accompanied by a low humming.

A small explosion happened at the entrance, leaving behind a cloud of blue smoke.

"I am the Terror that Flaps in the Night... I am the Remake that makes you miss the original movie... I am the classic scene that writers keep using until it turns cliché... I am DARKWING DUCK!"

Smoke dissipating, Darkwing stood high –or as high a duck his height could-; hands on hips, he glared at Liquidator -an ice sculpture- and at Bushroot, on the floor, in fetal position, rocking back and forth on his side, mumbling incoherently, clearly traumatized.

"Okay... Who's catching bad guys in my city?!" the purple-clad duck demanded to know, utterly annoyed, not only for wasting his time, but more importantly, because there was someone in his city trying to steal his thunder… again.

He marched purposely to the half of the evil pair which could answer his question for the time being, finding some significant resistance for his interrogatory.

"Okay, Bushy, what happened here?" asked the short duck, eyeing the supervillain suspiciously.

"Bees aren't real... They can't hurt me... Bees aren't real..."

Darkwing glaring at him. "Well? Who did this?"

"Bees aren't real... They can't hurt me... Bees aren't real..."

Darkwing crossed his arms over his chest, fuming as the former investigator remained in the same fetal position, rocking back and forth and repeating the inexistency of bees and their consequence incapability to perform any kind of damage to his person.

"Come on, Bushy! Snap out of it! I need you to tell me what happened since Drippy here won't be able to utter one of his sales speeches until we get him a cup of salt or a hair dryer. Whatever comes in hand first."

Launchpad entered the bank at that exact moment, carrying a large bag of pretzels on one arm and a slightly smaller bag of salt in the other. Darkwing raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, D.W.! Sorry to make you wait, but my super salty pretzels weren't that salty... Did I miss something?"

Darkwing eyed the bag of salt. "How... convenient..."


	2. Chapter 2

**QUACK CHRONICLES**

 **01\. Devil Wears Capra**

 **Part 2**

At 537 Avian Way stood a dark, gloomy house; the walls were painted in black and the curtains were blood red. The sky above the house was dark and thunderous, contrasting quite nicely with the blue, bright sky shining over all the other houses of the block.

Number 537 hadn't always been like that; it used to be a normal looking house, though its inhabitants had never been quite normal. The radical change in its appearance had happened just two years ago, when the master of the house had got married. And his brilliant, blushing newlywedded wife had made the house "homey", to the delight of her new daughter, the resignation of her beloved and the shock of one Binkey Muddlefoot from next door.

At the moment, the inhabitants of the house were in the middle of getting ready for another day.

Morgana Macawber –now Mallard- cradled a babbling duckling with white feathers, puffing cheeks and a tuff of black hair with a white strike on a side on her arms as she leaned over the staircase rail and looked up. "Gos! Wake up!" The witch called to her teenage daughter. "You'll be late for school!" The duckette sighed and reentered the kitchen, making her way to the high-chair. "She's not going to get up, is she?"

Drake laughed heartedly from the skillet. "Good one, Sweethumps!" He put another batch of dug on the pan.

Morgana sighed, making sure the baby was secured on his chair. She looked over her shoulder. "Squeech, dear, would you mind?"

A black lump that had been hanging innocently from the ceiling near to slightly bigger lumps cracked a yellow eye open and sighed. The bat detangled itself from its position and flew to the upper floor in a resigned way, ignoring his congeners' snickers.

Squeech entered a room and approached his target carefully; he knew first-hand just how dangerous could it be to wake-up Gosalyn Mallard, especially after a long night of horror movies or RPG videogames.

Yet, Squeech was a bat on a mission, and as such, he would see it to completion.

He flew into the girl's bedroom and approached the redhead with caution; the fourteen years-old was spread on her bed, arms and head hanging from the edge in a tasteful imitation of a corpse.

Only difference: dead people don't sound like Negaduck's chainsaw in speed 5.

Squeech huffed and flew right to the girl's face, flapping his wings furiously in an attempt to wake her up.

Gosalyn merely batted him away.

As Squeech spun to the carpet, victim of irony, the teenager pulled the covers over her head and kept sleeping. The bat shook his head to clean the dizziness and scowled in the bed's direction.

With renewed determination, Squeech took altitude before diving at full speed to his target.

"Ouch! Let go of my hair, you jerk!" cried Gosalyn angrily as she tried to sway the bat away.

Squeech pulled harder.

"I'm awake! I'm awake! Cut it off!"

The bat gave her hair another pull for good measure before letting go.

Gosalyn massaged her head and glared at the chiroptera. Squeeche in turned stuck his tongue out.

"You are worse than dad, I swear." Gosalyn yawned and stretched while the bat flew around her head.

The girl rubbed her eyes, trying to cast the sleepiness away. "Just give me a minute."

"Skwee!" Squeech nodded, turning around and heading for the door.

A loud thumb propped him to look back, only to find the avian knocked out on the floor, snoring loudly.

Squeech rolled his eyes, sighing.

Back at the kitchen, Drake watched as his youngest munched on his pancakes, half using his spoon, half using his hand.

A yowl from the upper floor could be heard.

"Guess Squeech succeeded", commented Drake in a sing-song voice.

"YEOW! GET OFF!"

"And it seems like someone's big sis got up with the wrong foot, don't you think, DT?"

The baby gurgled happily. Morgana approached with a wet towel to clean the syrup from the baby's feathers and dark onesie. "You are getting better, sweety," the witch praised. "Less than the half on the floor! It's a new record!"

"And none on Daddy's head," gloated Drake.

"He isn't finished yet."

"Thanks for the support, Morgy Worgy."

Morgana chuckled as Gosalyn stomped into the kitchen and threw herself in her seat, eying evilly the small bat that perched himself of the lamp, blowing a raspberry in her direction.

"Rude awakening, Honey?" smiled her father.

"Well, the one who woke me up was really rude," stated the teen, putting some pancakes on her plate and drowning them in chocolate, whipped cream, peanut butter and sprinkles.

"Here you go, Squeech!" Drake put a bunch of strawberries in front of the bat. "The reward for risking your life in the line of duty!"

"Dad!" Gosalyn protested, spilling food.

"Manners, young lady", warned Drake, tossing a cloth in her direction

Gos caught the cloth and cleaned her beak. "Sorry."

"Now, Gos, don't be mad at Squeech. I was the one who asked him to wake you up," stated Morgana.

"Yeah, well... He didn't have to be so harsh!"

"Yes, he had," muttered Darkwing's alter-ego. "And stop talking with your mouth full!"

Gosalyn rolled her eyes and swallowed. "Gotta go." The redhead stood up and ran to the door, grabbing her backpack on the way out. Squeech following swiftly. "See you later, guys! Bye, DT!"

Morgana smiled over her shoulder. "Good-bye, Honey. Have a nice day."

DT waved his arms around; his hands glowing a deep purple. His father stared at him wide-eyed.

"Morg… Oh, _MORG! "_

A lilac scooter drove out from the Mallards garage as a terrified scream sounded from the kitchen, followed by a cheerful "Good morning, everybody! Hey! Pancakes!" from McQuack.

A bright flash of light.

" _MORGANA_!"

And baby's giggles.

-o-o-o-

Morning where always hectic at St. Canard High.

The students swarmed all around, chatting busily comparing notes or begging for undone homework. The last bus spilled it load near the signboard reading: "Super Villain Awareness Week" as a scooter passed by.

Gosalyn parked and jumped from the vehicle and hatched the helmet on the mirror, before running into the busy halls. She skidded in front of her locker, throwing in the combination. The door shot open and the kid quickly filled her backpack with papers and books, not really caring about what was she stuffing in.

Some of it would come handy, after all.

"You barely make it."

"Hi, Honk." Gosalyn zipped the backpack and shouldered it. "How's it going?"

"Good enough. I got lab practice at midday at the telecommunications department and this afternoon my study group will be working on the Hedge equation," said Honker with enthusiasm.

"Great! Is a good thing, right?" asked Gos unsure.

"It is," nodded his friend.

"How's your internship going?"

"Good. Actually I got a new gadget for you. You should get it in today's post," informed the young genius.

"Keen gear! What is it? Give me a clue."

"It's a hairdryer, special design."

Gos smiled knowingly. "Awesome!" The school bell rang. "Gotta go. I'll call as soon as I got home."

"Have a nice day, Gos."

"I'm at school, Honk."

The boy's image flickered on the screen before it turn off. Gosalyn closed her locker, concealing the equipment inside.

Even though Honker Muddlefoot had been promoted to college, accepted at Yarvard University, gotten the Cornelius Coot scholarship which covered all tuition expenses and an internship at the famous Gyro Gearloose's lab, the two friends had managed to keep in touch, mostly through video chats. And even if Honker had had to renounce -rather willingly- to his role as Arrow Kid, he had acquired a more fitting one as the Augur, providing Quiverwing Quack with all kind of gadgets and assisting her with data and hacking abilities when needed.

Way less stressful, and it allowed him to make good use of his abilities in order to help his best friend.

It also had given him a break from Tank, who had turned even way nastier than he already was once Honker reached a growth sprout, making him almost half a foot taller than his older brother.

"Hi, Gosalyn."

Gos turned around to find an exact replica of her face smiling at her.

"Hey, NG What'sup?"

Negan Mallard, called by her "cousin" NG -for Nega Gosalyn- and known by the public as Negaquack when in disguise, was so alike but so different from her counterpart. Even though both girls had the same red hair, height and built, the differences in appearance were notorious. NG allowed her long hair to fall free and wavy over her back, while Gosalyn had opted for having hers in a bob haircut -less troublesome and annoying. While NG often wear dresses in shades of pink and pastel, Gos' clothing consisted mostly in jeans and cargo pants with different kinds of t-shirts and hoodies. The final difference in appearance was found in the girls webbed feet: NG's were clad in Mary Jane shoes and ballerinas, contrasting greatly with Gos' sneakers and combat boots.

NG passed a hand through her red locks, smoothing any possible rebellion. "Ready for class?"

"Mr. Brain first thing in the morning... No one's ready for THAT!" groaned Gos. "Should be illegal."

The girls made their way to their classroom amongst the other kids hurrying around.

"At least we have a school trip tomorrow," NG remembered cheerfully.

"To the Museum!" Gos puffed as they reached the door. "If at least we'd got to dissect a toad or something cool like that sometime …"

Her counterpart stared at her, mouth hanging open and eyes quickly filling with tears.

Gosalyn waved her hands frantically. "Kidding! Just kidding! You got those cool robo-frogs for dissections, remember? No frog will be harm in Science's name ever again!"

NG nodded and smiled weakly. "You are right. I'm sorry I overreacted. You just surprised me."

"Come on. I'd HATE to lose the beginning of the maximum boredom!" muttered Gos as they crossed the door, careful to not be heard by Mr. Brain, the science teacher.

Mr Brain was a short white mouse (slightly shorter than Drake Mallard, meaning Gosalyn and NG got about half a foot over him); he had cold pink eyes in a head that was even bigger than the rest of his body, a tail shaped like a lightning and who always wore the same blue suit and red tie.

Mr. Brain stood at the board, holding a stack of papers as the last kids entered or the tolerance time ended. He preferred the later, meaning that he wouldn't have to deal with all those vermin he was stuck to try and teach to.

Futile as it was.

It was a known fact that Mr. Brain despised kids even more than they despised him and that was something big to say; he hated kids. He totally and completely loathed them.

Maybe it was unfair to say so. He actually seem to hat anything that breath; not just kids. That was probably the reason he was content teaching in a middle school instead of looking for a job at a college or as a researcher in an actual lab. At least teenagers were in no position to challenge his authority and got to suffer his torture in silence.

Once the door was closed for good, Mr Brain scowled.

"As you should be aware by now -if you happened to pay any attention at all for the last month, which I highly doubt- tomorrow we'll be spending the day at the Museum. Since this is an educational trip, you'll be requested to work in teams and write a report. And behave like rational beings instead of acting like…" The teacher humphed and rolled his eyes with distaste. "Teams are up to five members." Mr. Brain walking through the rows of seats, handing the papers. "These are your permission forms; if you don't have these signed by tomorrow you won't be attending the trip; however, this doesn't mean you'll have a free day and do nothing. _Believe me_. I'll make sure you spend every single second envying those skilled enough to fake their parents signature... More than usual."

Mr. Brain stood behind his desk, holding the edges of the wooden surface and looming over the class like a bird of prey.

"Make good use of your phones for once and take pictures to back your reports; only from the exhibitions that allowed it. I shouldn't have to since this is common sense, but judging by your last quiz results I think I must remind you: NO FLASH." He then turned around and began writing on the chalkboard. "To make sure you are ready for tomorrow –or at least at ready at you will be; not that it says much- we'll be revising the Evolutionary Theory..."

The class received the news groaning.

"...Which I often find myself doubting for unknown reasons since I began teaching at this school..."

The door opened and a tall white mouse with unkempt white hair, big, blue unfocused eyes and dressed as a janitor made his way in. "Hey, Brain! Which were the two cleaners you told me I should never ever ever ever ever EVER… mix up? Snarf!"

Mr. Brain dropped his head against the chalkboard. "The ones I put the big stickers with the 'No mix' legend on them."

"So, I'm not supposed to mix them?"

"…No. This is one of those times you asked something you should BEFORE you actually go and do it?"

"Maybe."

An acrid smell slowly made its way into the room. Mr. Brain promptly closed the door and started dialing his phone.

A singsong voice answered. "St. Canard Middle School. How can I help you?"

"Mr. Brain speaking. Evacuate the building and call the fire department. We got a toxic gas situation."

He hanged up before the secretary could utter a word. He then picked up his briefcase and stashed his papers inside, before walking to the window.

"The class will be held in the parking lot," he instructed as he climbed out of the window.

-o-o-o-

The hysteric laughter of a well-known toy maker resounded through St. Canard Maximum Security Penitentiary for the Criminally Crafty, all the way from the cafeteria, as Quackerjack rolled around in a demented fit of laughter. Not far, Liquidator, Megavolt and Bushroot sat on a table; Megavolt giggling on his seat; Liquidator burbling furious and Bushroot frowning.

Finally Quackerjack recovered enough to point at his friends and mock. "You were beaten by girls!"

"I don't see why that is so funny," protested Bushroot, crossing his vine-like arms, clearly offended.

Megavolt rolled his eyes. "Because you were beaten by girls! Duh!"

"You weren't there! You don't have idea what it was like!" argued the plant-manager.

Quackerjack wiped a tear away. "Whatever, dude. You were beaten by girls!"

So far, Liquidator hadn't spoken, which sat s odd to Bushroot. Or to anyone who knew a little about the ex-salesman and his love for hearing his own voice.

The water canine waited until the clown was calm enough (as calm as that clown could be without being unconscious). Once Quackerjack couldn't go any further without breathing properly, he finally spoke:

"Ten out of ten supervillains agree that those girls didn't play by the rules..."

"And who does?" retorted Quackerjack.

Liquidator sloshed to his side. "Inquiring minds everywhere wonder, what's the funniest part of a bank robbery?"

The clown threw his arms in the air. "Stealing the money, of course!"

"So, it isn't getting the money but stealing it? The excitement of planning? The joy of infiltrating? The delight of taking away others' beloved possessions against their will? The whole pack?

"Of course!" nodded Quackerjack vigorously.

Liquidator put a watery arm around the Toy Maker's shoulder. "If you have said 'yes' to all the formers, you will certainly agree that the service perform by Vanderchill and Bugmaster clearly violates everything bank robbering stands for! Just like teenagers skipping the costumes and Trick or Treating to rob children from their hard earned candies on Halloween night!"

Quackerjack scowled. "Those party-poopers!"

Liquidator smiled smoothly to Bushroot as he kept talking. "Not to mention all those poor lightbulbs those awful women must enslaved in their mirrors every time they apply make-up of uncertain quality... Is that life? Is it?"

Megavolt gasped, covering his mouth with his hands. "Those poor little darlings!"

Liquidator splashed on the table and pointed to his fellow villains.

"Act now and restore the sacredness of bank robbery! Act now and stop these dreadful acts against fun and lightbulbs! ACT NOW!"

The Devious Duo howled ardently before running to the door at full speed.

Liquidator dripped down of the table, smirking in satisfaction.

"A little extreme, don't you think?" questioned Bushroot, nibbling slightly the edge of his leaf. "I hope you are aware of what you just released…"

A faint echo of 'Vive la liberté!' and 'For the fun!' was heard amongst riot noises and horrified screams.

Liquidator sloshed away and Bushroot hurried to follow.

"Ten out of ten supervillians agree that is an extremely bad idea to steal from the one and only Liquidator..." His face contorted on a mask of pure hatred and fury. "Extremely bad idea..."

As the prison alarms blasted, one voice stood out.

"IT'S PLAAAY~ TIME~!"


End file.
